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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26088565">Over There</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sindarina/pseuds/Sindarina'>Sindarina</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnificent Seven (1960)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Apples, Childhood Memories, Living Together, M/M, Memories, Post-Canon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:15:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>640</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26088565</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sindarina/pseuds/Sindarina</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Various moments of closeness (another contribution to the project)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Chris Adams/Vin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Over There</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/BethLange/gifts">BethLange</a>.</li>


        <li>
            A translation of

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24774184">Einfach nur Wir</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sindarina/pseuds/Sindarina">Sindarina</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hooray, here comes the translation of "Dort", still from the same project! Dear mcicioni helped me a lot, especially with all of the tricky things :) I hope you enjoy this one, too, dear BethLange, you and other readers.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The day’s work is done. We have eaten and now are sitting in front of the fireplace for a while. I’m not expecting any more profound conversations, not tonight. But you surprise me. And go back several years.</p><p>“Say, what d’you think your old folks passed on to you?”</p><p>Not a happy topic. Better get rid of it. “Leave it alone.”</p><p>You yourself aren’t all that fond of this kind of questions. And we have a silent agreement on this. So why …?</p><p>“Don’t say that you came up with this because today we went to the Byrnes’ shop.” They had good bread. But their kids were just plain cheeky, which didn’t seem to worry the parents.</p><p>“Nope.” You grin at me, then become serious. “I mean back then, in the village.”</p><p>Well, thanks a lot. I really love remembering all that, especially how I screwed things up at the end. “What?”</p><p>“Your threat, that you were going to shoot anyone, who … You know. How you lost your temper. Was it only that, or …?”</p><p>“How the hell should I know.” The words come out before I really gave it any thought.</p><p>You don’t argue and say nothing else – you give me all the time I need.</p><p>I really don’t know where everything that’s in my head comes from. What I came into the world with. What they passed on to me at home. What I learned in the war. And afterwards.</p><p>Then again …</p><p>It could be right. That Sotero had wanted to send us away just like that. That the contract we took was suddenly no longer valid. That our word was worth nothing. As if we’d just been pretending all along. As if we had no firm principles. And he had acted as if he had power over us. Over <em>me</em>. That was an insult. To be answered at once. Hard and fast. Learned that as a boy. Kept it up as a man. Or else, just about everything was lost.</p><p>“Wounded honour,” I state eventually. “Typical Southern pattern.”</p><p>“So, the wild boys over there are no fairytale.”</p><p>I just make a shooing gesture, refusing to be carried along by your easy-going drawl.</p><p>I’ve been staying away from New Orleans as if it was poisoned. For a very long time. Not that I enjoyed doing it. People didn’t walk away from family and home – but I did. I had reasons. The start of a screwed-up life …</p><p>What would they have said about how I behaved in the village? Would they have been pleased that I had learned at least that much? I’ll never find out. I don’t even know which of them are still around. And now I’m thinking about them again. Pointless.</p><p>I feel like I’m choking up. Damn. I turn away.</p><p>Undeterred, you take my hand, play a little with my fingers. At first I don’t feel like it at all. But I let you do it, and after a while it comforts me. For whatever reason.</p><p>“At home I learned not to hit the bottle”, you eventually say softly, and I know that you’re thinking of your father. “Anyway … <em>learned</em> isn’t quite right. It was more like a deterrent.”</p><p>I look at you. Your drawl is light-hearted. Too detached from what’s behind it. Of course.</p><p>And then you shake the mood off. Meanwhile, the fire has almost gone out. “Come on, time for dessert. Let’s roast some apples.”</p><p>“As long as they don’t go up in flames.” Which wouldn’t surprise me.</p><p>You poke me in the ribs. “Don’t worry, we’ll be careful.”</p><p>As our treat is sizzling away, we sit down again, this time on a blanket, and just wait and are together. I don’t say what I’m thinking, because it’d be too damn mawkish. I just reach for your hand. Perhaps you get my meaning anyway.</p>
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